CHAPTER IX
"THE FRIENDS OF L. C. SERVE NOTICE"
Two men sat in a log cabin on opposite sides of a cheap table. One of themwas immersed in a newspaper. His body was relaxed, his mind apparently atease. The other watched him malevolently. His fingers caressed the handleof a revolver that protruded from the holster at his side. He would haveliked nothing better than to have drawn it and sent a bullet crashing intothe unperturbed brain of his prisoner.
There were reasons of policy why it were better to curb this fascinatingdesire, but sometimes the impulse to kill surged up almost uncontrollably.On these occasions Luck Cullison was usually "deviling" him, the onlydiversion that had been open to the ranchman for some days past. Becauseof its danger--for he could never be quite sure that Blackwell's lust forswift vengeance would not over-power discretion--this pastime made apeculiar appeal to the audacious temper of the owner of the Circle C.
From time to time as Luck read he commented genially on the news.
"I see Tucson is going to get the El Paso & Southwestern extension afterall. I'll bet the boys in that burg will be right tickled to hear it. Theysure have worked steady for it."
Blackwell merely scowled. He never relaxed to the give and take of casualtalk with his captive. Given his way, Cullison would not be here to readthe _Sentinel_. But the brains of the conspiracy had ruled otherwise andhad insisted too upon decent treatment. With one ankle securely tied to aleg of the table there was no danger in freeing the hands of thecattleman, but his hosts saw that never for an instant were hands and feetat liberty together. For this man was not the one with whom to takechances.
"Rudd has been convicted of forgery and taken to Yuma. Seems to me youused to live there, didn't you?" asked the cattleman with cool insolence,looking up from his paper to smile across at the furious convict.
Blackwell was livid. The man who had sent him to the territorial prison atYuma dared to sit there bound and unarmed and taunt him with it.
"Take care," he advised hoarsely.
Cullison laughed and went back to the paper.
"'Lieutenant O'Connor of the Arizona Rangers left town to-day for a shorttrip into the hills where he expects to spend a few days hunting.' Huntingwhat, do you reckon? Or hunting who, I should say. Ever meet BuckyO'Connor, Blackwell? No, I reckon not. He's since your time. A crackerjacktoo! Wonder if Bucky ain't after some friends of mine."
"Shut up," growled the other.
"Sure you'll be shut up--when Bucky lands you," retorted Luck cheerfully.Then, with a sudden whoop: "Hello, here's a personal to your address.Fine! They're getting ready to round you up, my friend. Listen. 'Thefriends of L. C. serve notice that what occurred at the Jack of Hearts isknown. Any violence hereafter done to him will be paid for to the limit.No guilty man will escape.' So the boys are getting busy. I figured theywould be. Looks like your chance of knocking me on the head has gone downSalt River. I tell you nowadays a man has to grab an opportunity by thetail when it's there."
The former convict leaned forward angrily. "Lemme see that paper."
His guest handed it over, an index finger pointing out the item. "Large aslife, Blackwell. No, sir. You ce'tainly didn't ride herd proper on thatopportunity."
"Don't be too sure it's gone, Mr. Sheriff."
The man's face was twisted to an ugly sneer back of which lurked cruelmenace. The gray eyes of Cullison did not waver a hair's breadth.
"It's gone. I'm as safe as if I were at the Circle C."
"Don't you think it."
"They've got you dead to rights. Read that personal again. Learn it byheart. 'The friends of L. C. give warning.' You better believe they'rerounding up your outfit. They know I'm alive. They know all about the Jackof Hearts. Pretty soon they'll know where you've got me hidden."
"You'd better pray they won't. For if they find the nest it will beempty."
"Yes?" Luck spoke with ironical carelessness, but he shot an alert keenglance at the other.
"That's what I said. Want to know where you will be?" the othertriumphed.
"I see you want to tell me. Unload your mind."
Triumph overrode discretion. "Look out of that window behind you."
Luck turned. The cabin was built on a ledge far up on the mountain side.From the back wall sloped for a hundred feet an almost perpendicular slideof rock.
"There's a prospect hole down there," Blackwell explained savagely. "You'dgo down the Devil's Slide--what's left of you, I mean--deep into thatprospect hole. The timberings are rotted and the whole top of the workingready to cave in. When your body hits it there will be an avalanche--withMr. Former-sheriff Cullison at the bottom of it. You'll be buried withoutany funeral expenses, and I reckon your friends will never know where toput the headstone."
The thing was devilishly simple and feasible. Luck, still looking out ofthe window, felt the blood run cold down his spine, for he knew thisfellow would never stick at murder if he felt it would be safe. No doubthe was being well paid, and though in this workaday world revenge has goneout of fashion there was no denying that this ruffian would enjoy eveningthe score. But his confederate was of another stripe, a human being withnormal passions and instincts. The cattleman wondered how he couldreconcile it to his conscience to go into so vile a plot with a villainlike the convict.
"So you see I'm right; you'd better pray your friends _won't_ find you.They can't reach here without being heard. If they get to hunting thesehills you sure want to hope they'll stay cold, for just as soon as theyget warm it will be the signal for you to shoot the chutes."
Luck met his triumphant savagery with an impassive face. "Interesting iftrue. And where will you be when my friends arrive. I reckon it won't be apleasant meeting for Mr. Blackwell."
"I'll be headed for Mexico. I tell you because you ain't liable to goaround spreading the news. There's a horse saddled in the dip back of thehill crest. Get it?"
"Fine," Cullison came back. "And you'll ride right into some of BuckyO'Connor's rangers. He's got the border patroled. You'd never make it."
"Don't worry. I'd slip through. I'm no tenderfoot."
"What if you did? Bucky would drag you back by the scruff of the neck intwo weeks. Remember Chavez."
He referred to a murderer whom the lieutenant of rangers had captured andbrought back to be hanged later.
"Chavez was a fool."
"Was he? You don't get the point. The old days are gone. Law is in thesaddle. Murder is no longer a pleasant pastime." And Cullison stretchedhis arms and yawned.
From far below there came through the open window the faint click of ahorse's hoofs ringing against the stones in the dry bed of a river wash.Swiftly Blackwell moved to the door, taking down a rifle from its rack ashe did so. Cullison rose noiselessly in his chair. If it came to the worsthe meant to shout aloud his presence and close with this fellow. Hamperedas he was by the table, the man would get him without question. But if hecould only sink his fingers into that hairy throat while there was stilllife in him he could promise that the Mexican trip would never takeplace.
Blackwell, from his place by the door, could keep an eye both on hisprisoner and on a point of the trail far below where horsemen must pass toreach the cabin.
"Sit down," he ordered.
Cullison's eyes were like finely-tempered steel. "I'd rather stand."
"By God, if you move from there----" The man did not finish his sentence,but the rifle was already half lifted. More words would have beensuperfluous.
A rider came into sight and entered the mouth of the canyon. He was wavinga white handkerchief. The man in the doorway answered the signal.
"Not your friends this time, Mr. Sheriff," Blackwell jeered.
"I get a stay of execution, do I?" The cool drawling voice of thecattleman showed nothing of the tense feeling within.
He resumed his seat and the reading of the newspaper. Presently, to theman that came over the threshold he spoke with a casual nod.
"Morning, Cass."
Fendric
k mumbled a surly answer. The manner of ironical comradeship hiscaptive chose to employ was more than an annoyance. To serve his ends itwas necessary to put the fear of death into this man's heart, which was athing he had found impossible to do. His foe would deride him, joke withhim, discuss politics with him, play cards with him, do anything but fearhim. In the meantime the logic of circumstances was driving the sheepmaninto a corner. He had on impulse made the owner of the Circle C hisprisoner. Seeing him lie there unconscious on the floor of the Jack ofHearts, it had come to him in a flash that he might hold him and force arelinquishment of the Del Oro claim. His disappearance would explainitself if the rumor spread that he was the W. & S. express robber. Casshad done it to save himself from the ruin of his business, but already hehad regretted it fifty times. Threats could not move Luck in the least. Hewas as hard as iron.
So the sheepman found himself between the upper and the nether millstones.He could not drive his prisoner to terms and he dared not release him. Forif Cullison went away unpledged he would surely send him to thepenitentiary. Nor could he hold him a prisoner indefinitely. He had seenthe "personal" warning in both the morning and the afternoon papers. Heguessed that the presence of the ranger Bucky O'Connor in Saguache was nota chance. The law was closing in on him. Somehow Cullison must be made tocome through with a relinquishment and a pledge not to prosecute. The onlyother way out would be to let Blackwell wreak his hate on the formersheriff. From this he shrank with every instinct. Fendrick was a hard man.He would have fought it out to a finish if necessary. But murder was athing he could not do.
He had never discussed the matter with Blackwell. The latter had told himof this retreat in the mountains and they had brought their prisoner here.But the existence of the prospect hole at the foot of the Devil's Slidewas unknown to him. From the convict's revenge he had hitherto saved Luck.Blackwell was his tool rather than his confederate, but he was uneasilyaware that if the man yielded to the elemental desire to kill his enemythe law, would hold him, Cass Fendrick, guilty of the crime.
"Price of sheep good this week?" Cullison asked amiably.
"I didn't come here to discuss the price of sheep with you." Fendrickspoke harshly. A dull anger against the scheme of things burned in him.For somehow he had reached an _impasse_ from which there was neitheradvance nor retreat.
"No. Well, you're right there. What I don't know about sheep would fillseveral government reports. Of course I've got ideas. One of them is----"
"I don't care anything about your ideas. Are you going to sign thisrelinquishment?"
Luck's face showed a placid surprise. "Why no, Cass. Thought I mentionedthat before."
"You'd better." The sheepman's harassed face looked ugly enough foranything.
"Can't figure it out that way."
"You've got to sign it. By God, you've no option."
"No?" Still with pleasant incredulity.
"Think I'm going to let you get away from here now. You'll sign and you'llpromise to tell nothing you know against us."
"No, I don't reckon I will."
Cullison was looking straight at him with his fearless level gaze.Fendrick realized with a sinking heart that he could not drive him thatway to surrender. He knew that in the other man's place he would havegiven way, that his enemy was gamer than he was.
He threw up his hand in a sullen gesture that disclaimed responsibility."All right. It's on your own head. I've done all I can for you."
"What's on my head?"
"Your life. Damn you, don't you see you're driving me too far?"
"How far?"
"I'm not going to let you get away to send us to prison. What do youexpect?"
Luck's frosty eyes did not release the other for a moment. "How are yougoing to prevent it, Cass?"
"I'll find a way."
"Blackwell's way--the Devil's Slide?"
The puzzled look of the sheepman told Cullison that Blackwell's plan ofexit for him had not been submitted to the other.
"Your friend from Yuma has been explaining how he has arranged for me tocross the divide," he went on. "I'm to be plugged full of lead, shot downthat rock, and landed in a prospect hole at the bottom."
"First I've heard of it." Fendrick wheeled upon his accomplice with angryeyes. He was in general a dominant man, and not one who would stand muchinitiative from his assistants.
"He's always deviling me," complained the convict surlily. Then, with aflash of anger: "But I stand pat. He'll get his before I take chances ofgetting caught. I'm nobody's fool."
Cass snapped him up. "You'll do as I say. You'll not lift a finger againsthim unless he tries to escape."
"Have you seen the _Sentinel_? I tell you his friends know everything.Someone's peached. They're hot on our trail. Bucky O'Connor is in thehills. Think I'm going to be caught like a rat in a trap?"
"We'll talk of that later. Now you go look after my horse while I keepguard here."
Blackwell went, protesting that he was no "nigger" to be ordered about onerrands. As soon, as he was out of hearing Fendrick turned his thinlip-smile on the prisoner.
"It's up to you, Cullison. I saved your life once. I'm protecting you now.But if your friends show up he'll do as he says. I won't be here to stophim. Sign up and don't be a fool."
Luck's answer came easily and lightly. "My friend, we've already discussedthat point."
"You won't change your mind?"
"Your arguments don't justify it, Cass."
The sheepman looked at him with a sinister significance. "Good enough.I'll bring you one that will justify it _muy pronto_."
"It will have to be a mighty powerful one. Sorry I can't oblige you andyour friend, the convict."
"It'll be powerful enough." Fendrick went to the door and calledBlackwell. "Bring back that horse. I'm going down to the valley."